


Sinner's Choice

by lonesomelikeasong



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Coffee Shops, Jessica Moore Lives, M/M, Musician Castiel, Musician Dean, Tattooed Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonesomelikeasong/pseuds/lonesomelikeasong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is starting out, a songwriter in a world of music. He meets the one person that can shake away everything he's ever felt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fanfare

_Darling, you're the only thing my eyes will ever need._

That song was always playing at work. That stupid, stupid song. The one that Dean couldn't even stand, let alone listen to over and over while wearing an apron and serving up five hundred frappucinos to people who didn't even say thank you. It was catchy, admittedly. But who actually talked about people like that? Who said darling? NO one said it to him, and you wouldn't catch him saying it to somebody.

_You're magic to me, magic to all of me._

"Magic? Really? Why do people like this song?" He asked his brother Sam. He got a shrug as the taller man moved past him to hand off a drink to a young man in a long coat.

"Maybe some people find love appealing? Myself included? I like the song, I won't lie to you Dean. It fits the atmosphere too. People want to drink their pricey caffeine in acoustic bliss. So we play the song."

Moron. He didn't understand what marriage to Jess had done to him. He was talking about love being "appealing" for crying out loud. Dean had never understood what made them so crazy about each other, but he was glad to see his little brother happy. Even if it did mean listening some guy enthusiastically play piano practically on repeat.

_You're everything, my galaxy_

Even when he was little he hadn't liked fairy tales. There was always a prince, a princess, a curse, a happily ever after. He wanted excitement, rock and roll. Instead, he grew up and got three tattoos and a job working at his brother's coffee shop so that he could afford to have a little music in his life.

The man Sam had just given his coffee was waiting to say something, he realized. He put on his "customer service" face and listened.

"So you don't like this song, huh?"

Dean chuckled and pulled a face. "Can't say that I do."

"It's a shame, seeing as I wrote it." The man said, with a laugh in his voice. Dean's eyes shot up, straight to the man's face. Blue eyes, shock of black hair. Oh no. He knew this face, from TV, music videos, the internet. Terrible timing won again, in the form of a very famous face. He started rearranging cups, stacking and restacking, avoiding eye contact.

"I mean, I'm sure you're proud. Very hip and everything. Enjoy your drink."

"Don't be like that. You don't like the song, and I'm glad you said it. No one has given me an honest opinion since this track went on the radio. Are you busy or could we talk?"

Dean, eyes wide, looked at Sam imploringly. If telepathy could ever work, the word NO would be written across his mind's sky. Sam grinned. "We're fine. Your shift is over in ten anyway. As your boss, I'll okay it."

"Excellent." The man smiled. "As I'm guessing you've already figured out, I'm Castiel."

_You're magic to me, magic to all of me._


	2. Verse

"So tell me about yourself. For starters, what's your name?"

The two men sat at a small table outside, taking in September's sun before it left for winter. Castiel looked at Dean, shifting his drink between his hands.

Dean shrugged. "My name's Dean. Dean Winchester. The other guy was Sam, my brother. He owns this place, and I work for him during days so I can play shows at night."

Castiel leaned in. "So you're a musician too? What's your style?"

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, I'm small time. Doing what I love though, and there ain't messin' with that. I'm into the acoustic scene, even if try to act like I'm big stuff. It's simpler, that way. Just you and a guitar and the audience. Pure or somethin'. What about you, Castiel? Big name make you feel like a sellout?"

The other man laughed and looked away. "Yeah, just Cas please. Quite honestly I'm getting tired of seeing my own name around. I can't say I'm not grateful for all this, but some days..." He trailed off, pensive. "Some days are harder than I thought. I'm not very free anymore. And that song" he gestured his hands toward the shop, "That song isn't even one I really care about. Not one I love. I wrote it as a crowdpleaser or a sing-along or something. I'm glad someone felt the same way that I do. I have to ask, though. What's your problem with it?

Dean shrugged. "Just isn't my deal. Magic, love. It feels like kid stuff to me. I guess I write about it too. Just not the same. I...never mind." He started to get up, but Cas grabbed his arm. "Wait. Please tell me. No one talks to me anymore. Not really. Don't talk about writing or anything if you don't want. Tell me something else. Tell me..." He looked Dean up and down. There grew a silent moment between them, and Dean noticed the other man. He had just been scared before, but now he really looked at him. He had a thoughtful look about him, as though he spent all his time trying to put together the puzzle that was the world. His hands had no callouses, unlike Dean's which were rough from guitar, but were smooth, thin. They were piano player's hands. Beautiful, really.

He heard Cas speak. "Tell me about your tattoo."

Dean snapped from his daze and gestured at his right arm, flannel shirt rolled up to show off a beautiful half-sleeve tattoo. "Sorry, I got it after I played a little music festival. Payout was finally a little better than just beer money, so I figured I'd celebrate and get something I've wanted for a long time. And here we are."  
The tattoo was a labyrinth of classic style roses and vines, curling around a compass rose. "I wanted something to remind me of home. My mom had these planted around our front porch back in Kansas, and the compass...well, leads me back. Back to Lawrence, back to home."

Cas reached forward, looking at the detail, and touched one finger to where the compass pointed north. Dean, without warning, looked straight into the other man's eyes.  
Those eyes. They were deep. They weren't the way some cheating crowdpleaser looked at the world. Cas was real. As real as he had ever met. He felt somehow like he belonged in this shared space, something he hadn't ever felt. He wasn't sure he liked the way it moved his heart, a way he had always been able to push far from him. He cleared his throat and the moment broke apart. Cas moved his hand away and took a drink quickly. "Well, I need to be going soon. Um. I'm playing a 'secret' show down at Tavi's on Saturday, two nights from now. I don't know if you're busy or not, but I've got no opening act. And at this point, I'm just going to do what I want. How about it?"

"Are you serious? You mean me? Dude, I've never opened for someone people have heard of, much less a hitmaker like you. I'm gonna get booed off the stage."

Cas stood and put on his coat. "I'm very serious. I like you, Dean. You're the real deal. You don't lie to me because I'm famous. You don't lie to me at all. Open my show. Please."

Dean brushed his hands over his face, rasping against stubble and trying to contain his excitement. "Dude, thank you. Absolutely I will." He stood to face Cas. "I mean, you've never heard me play. What...what if you don't dig it?"

Cas smirked. "I will. I dig you, your speaking voice is pleasant. Your hands are calloused, which means you at least try at guitar. I think I'm putting my opening in very capable hands. Just one thing, though, before we go."

"Anything, man." Dean leaned in, still exuberant. "Name it."

"What were you going to say earlier, about writing about love? I'm curious."

Dean's face fell. "Man, you don't wanna hear this. It's just lame."

"Suit yourself. I'd like to know someday though. Here's my number. Call if you need details or anything." He handed a card to Dean, who took it and tucked it into a shirt pocket. "Be there at 7. We've got to do sound checks and everything."

"Will do. And thanks again, Cas. I don't even know how I can repay this."

"Don't mention it." His smile faded, replaced with a tired look. "I'm tired of everything moving around me like insanity and being treated like I'm any more special than much more talented musicians. I'll feel better knowing you're there to bring me out into the crowd."

He put out his hand to shake Dean's, and Dean did the same. The contact lingered a little, fingers brushing when they let go. Cas shook his head, smiled, and headed down the road to the parking lot. Dean watched him go, unable to figure out why his chest felt mostly like a cavern and a little something like warmth.


	3. Chorus

Nervous wasn't even how he was gonna start, if Dean was going to list everything he felt that Saturday afternoon. God, but he was tired. He hadn't slept for two nights, just drove until the road got hazy and he ached for home. Then he took off his shoes, had a few beers, and dozed until he had to get ready for work. Those two days stretched endless, like clay in the hands of a maker who was unsure of his purpose.

Finally, though, the day was here and he'd be damned if he chickened out now. He'd go on that stage or die trying. He rolled out of bed and stretched, joints popping. The life was starting to get to him: only Sammy to answer to, not much else to live for. And now he had Cas, walking into his life like some kind of sign. What was he supposed to make of that handshake? Of those thin hands and those eyes that knew him? He didn't want to feel like this. He never had, not so long as he'd lived.

He walked to his closet to get ready, and stood for a moment in front of the mirror and examined himself.

He was still in miraculously good shape for all the rough and tumble he'd put his body through. He wasn't some kind of superhero, but you could see muscle move under his skin that let you know he knew how to use what he had. And he had. Hell if he knew how many he'd pulled in for one night and sent packing the next day. He'd call them baby and show them the night, and never let on that the shadows were howling back at him that it was all so wrong. He didn't belong there, but the alternative wasn't something he could face either. Not with the life he had now.

He shook his head to clear it and grabbed the clothes he'd set out to wear. Nothing special; he'd picked out one of many plaid flannels, a black vee neck, and jeans. _Shower comes first_ , he reminded himself. _This is like any show, on any day, Dean. Stop psyching yourself out, asshole._

He stood there for a long while, letting the warmth of the water sink into his bones. He had to stop thinking about those hands, about how he wanted them on him, about that singer's mouth and the things it could tell him. He slammed his hands against the wall, angry, scared. He'd been pushing away this life for so long and right now was a horrible time for it to come rushing back. He didn't want to feel this way about Cas, or anyone. He'd had a few men in his bed before. That wasn't a secret to him or to anyone, and that wasn't the idea that made his hands shake. No, it was the idea of really feeling something. He was so afraid to give someone a real piece of his soul that he guarded it jealous.

He shook his head, got out of the shower, and toweled off quickly. He pulled on his shirt, brushing against the other tattoos on his torso, one a stag and the other a religious symbol over his heart to match his brother's. He checked his hair, mussed it, fixed it, and went downstairs to where Sam sat on his laptop. Even his workaholic younger brother had deemed the day a "special occasion" and closed up the coffee shop so he could come to the show.

"Still coming tonight, Sammy?" Dean asked, brushing by to check his guitar case.

"Yep" Sam said, not looking up from his keyboard, "Bringing Jess too. Thought she was gonna freak when I told her. Oh, so get this. This Castiel guy came to town without telling anybody. His PR people thought he'd gotten kidnapped or something. What's his deal?"

Dean shrugged."Guy's just tired of being a Backstreet Boy. Tired of running ragged. I think he just needed a few days to calm down. I've gotta go, man. I'll see you later."

He took his guitar and headed out to his Impala, a '67 beauty that he always joked was the only thing he ever loved. He put his guitar in the back and folded his tall frame into the driver's seat, careful as always with his baby. He braced his hands against the steering wheel and blew out a breath, steadying himself. He was right to be nervous. It was going to be a big crowd. Word had slipped locally about the "secret show," and Cas was getting quite an audience. He gunned the engine and headed to Tavi's, nervous and excited for the show, and terrified regardless to see the man who waited for him there.


	4. Bridge

Tavi's was the real deal: a place where someone could play a show and call it the best they'd ever done. It was large enough to fit a crowd and yet strangely intimate, with vintage-style tables and chairs in the middle, the bar to the right side, and a real stage built up to accommodate big productions.

Dean stood in the wings of the stage, tuning his guitar one last time and turning the events of the week over in his head like a coin. He was thinking straight now, for the first time in days. He didn't really know Cas, much less understand him. The man was famous. Hell, he didn't even know if the guy dug men, or women, nothing, or anything. He let out a sigh.  _Life's harder when you have to think about this crap._ He thought.  _I just want to go back to music and drinking at cheap bars and hooking up with the person of the night that makes me feel like I know what I'm doin'._

He was interrupted by the source of his conflict. Cas strode onstage, all business, without even noticing him. Dean watched from the shadows and the other man worked to set things up the way he wanted. He was so precise, like a creator choosing where each of his projects goes, and making sure that they all shine in the light just so they get noticed.

"You're very careful." Dean said, moving from his lean on the wall and onto the stage. Cas, startled, gave a small, rueful laugh.

"I didn't even see you there, Dean. Uh, yes. I am particular. It's just so that I know I'll be comfortable. Contrary to what a lot of people think, just because I'm famous doesn't mean I like being on stage in front of a few hundred people. What about you? How does the crowd make you feel?" He looked into Dean's eyes, inquisitive. Dean hadn't noticed before, but Cas was a few inches shorter than him. He had to look up to see Dean's face but he still made the effort and did it. He wasn't nervous around Dean. Not one bit.

Dean shrugged. "There's nothing I love more. The feeling of going out there, sitting down, and playing music for these people is amazing to me. I just feel...alive, I guess."

For the first time, Dean realized they were alone. The curtains were closed, shielding them from the people that had already arrived, and no one from the crew was in sight. They stood there with the instruments from the band, dim lighting coming in under the curtain and from a couple spots that had been left on for safety. Cas was still looking at him in that way that made him want to jump out of his skin, like he was something that Cas desperately wanted to solve. "You keep...looking at me like that. Are you just spacing off, or...?" Dean finally asked.

Cas leaned away and laughed quietly. "No" he said, sitting at his piano bench. "No, I'm not. I don't want to be forward, Dean, but I'm definitely not spacing out." He ran his thin fingers over the piano keys.

Dean stood next to him, back to the piano, facing the curtain, dim light shining onto his face. "Then what, man? You seem so...lost, almost. Hell, you look the way I feel half the time these days."

"These days?" He saw Cas turn, straddling the piano bench to look at him, but he didn't, couldn't meet his eye. "What has changed now that was not before?"

"I don't know, man. It's just...this gig is so much to me, and then you...you. I can't handle this right now, man. I'll screw up." He laughed without humor. "Don't want your opening act to screw up the beginning of your show, would ya?"

"It has something to do with me, Dean?" He heard, after a long pause. What lights had been on were now dimmed in preparation, and they were nearly in total darkness. His throat was in knots, and he didn't trust himself to speak.

"Dean. Look at me. Please."

He forced himself to turn and face the other man. Cas was smiling, of all things. Smiling. Of course he was an asshole. He'd figured it out and wanted to poke fun at the stupid guy who fell in...what was it even? It wasn't love, although he could see why people wrote about the way he felt. It was simply like he had a real home again, not back in Lawrence but in the body of a small man who was looking at him like he was a carnival.

"Is something funny, Castiel?" He muttered, turning to walk offstage, face burning in the darkness.

"I was just thinking that I'm an idiot." Cas said, and Dean turned sharply around. Could he hope that he'd been wrong? He walked back to stand in front of the piano bench, where Cas was still sitting the same way, looking at him with a smile.

"Tell me what you mean. Tell me right now."

"You tell me something first. What's your hangup about songwriting? Why do you think you're no good?"

Dean slammed his hands on the bench and looked straight into the other man's face, now at eye level. "You wanna know the truth? I've never been in love, Cas. I've never even felt love, except what counts with my family. I fight, I play music, and it's all so damn empty I could die some days. I feel like a bad songwriter because I can't write about the one thing people care to listen to, and that's love. It died bloody inside me when I didn't realize and now I can't bring it back to life. I didn't want to tell you because it sounds stupid, and because I knew you wouldn't care, and because the way I feel about you is something that I never want to feel again if it means not hating my own heart for beating the way it does. I've said my piece, Cas. Are you happy?" He was breathing hard, spent from all the anger he had inside him. He hung his head down, expecting an awkward silence, an "I'm glad you were honest," everything that he'd been hearing his whole life.

He was surprised when, instead, Cas grabbed his flannel shirt and kissed him. He was so shocked that he didn't move, didn't return the kiss. Cas released his shirt and stood. "I'm sorry if that was too forward, Dean, but I've been wanting to do that since I met you. I feel the way I think that you do and all I want right now is to kiss you again, but if you'd like to pretend this never happened, that would be alright too.

He got his answer when Dean stood and pulled him close, hands gripping his thin ribs. He kissed him hard, trying to show everything he had never learned how to say. Cas ran his hands through Dean's hair and rested them on his shoulders, as insistent as Dean was. It was heated, amplified by the dark that surrounded them. They lingered until at last they broke apart and touched foreheads, breathless and shaking. They were still holding each other like each was about to leave forever. Dean had the weak thought, through the many other things racing through his body at the moment, that he never wanted to leave this moment.  _If I could choose just one moment to live again, before I die, I would want it to be this, right here_ Dean thought, half delirious with joy and hope and a certain kind of want that made him wish he didn't have to play the show quite so soon and that he could take Cas home with him and show him what he could do with the body his tattoos were inked on. Mostly, he just wanted to wake up and know that neither one of them was leaving in the morning. For once, that prospect didn't seem so bad.

* * *

 

Even though he had other things on his mind, Dean Winchester played the best show of his life. He knew it, too. Love songs be damned, he sang his heart out to the songs he wrote and knew. The crowd loved it, and he could see people buying up the CDs laid in the table at the side of the bar. At the last minute, he put in a new song, one that he'd written only scarce minutes before. It was a simple melody. He though his first real love song ought to be that way.

_And here in your arms is a place I can stay_   
_So wrap them around me like it's always_   
_I know I'm a sinner, and that just won't change,_   
_And my sinner's choice is you, is you._   
_And my choice is to be with you._

Cas had, as always, an amazing show. When he got to his hit song, the one that started it all, he brought Dean back out onstage and told the story of how they met. He left out all the personal details, of course, and made it a comedic bit. Dean played the part, laughing and rolling his eyes, and deep down at every word he thrilled to hear the other man speak. They snuck in kisses when no one could see, in the darkness of the wings. Their happiness was insatiable.

After all was said and done, after Cas played his encore and the show was over, after the night was wearing thin and they had said their thank yous to the crowd, they were alone once again for real. This time, they were on Dean's front porch, and they were holding each other's hands like two high school kids after a dance. Dean would have made fun of himself if he hadn't been so damn happy. "The crowd loved you, Cas. They were screaming their heads off."

Cas smirked a little, a look Dean was already getting used to seeing and feeling against his lips. "They loved you you too. They scream for me because I'm famous. They're quiet when you play because you're talented, Dean Winchester. And that last song. Anything I need to know about?" He dropped Dean's hands and clasped his, waiting with one eyebrow cocked.

Dean shuffled his feet and looked down, and then pulled Cas to him by the waist once again, his new favorite thing to do. "I wrote it about what happened on the stage, and when you touched my tattoo, and this, right here. I know it's soon to be writing sonnets and crap, but I don't care anymore, Cas. I finally feel something real, and I don't want to just let it go. Not just yet."

Cas leaned in and kissed him quickly, then tilted his head up to look into his eyes. "Dean, I...you said you'd never been in love."

"Yeah. Not even...I've never even felt like this. Whatever this is, it's...I'd never want anything else." Dean looked at Cas, afraid he was about to hear something that would take him off his high and send him back to where he was a week ago, drunk half the time and angry always.

Cas smiled, and he looked like the sun and the stars and everything God made that we could see our lives with. "I'd like to change that, Dean. I'd like to be so lucky as to be the person you love."

He kissed Dean once more, and the world could have fallen to pieces around them for all they would have noticed.

_And my sinner's choice is you, is you  
And my choice is to be with you._


End file.
